


Somebody to Love

by 1VulgarWoman



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Happy Ending, Mild Angst, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Office Romance, Office Sex, Soulmate marks, Soulmates, Vegebul, vboreversebang2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25656610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1VulgarWoman/pseuds/1VulgarWoman
Summary: He wishes he could have it removed -- the little constellation of freckles in the shape of a winged arrow on his lower back -- but it would just grow back if he tried. Because his soulmate is out there, somewhere. Probably waiting faithfully like he has been.Hadbeen. Until now.Until her.A Vegebul soulmates/office romance for the Vegebulocracy Reverse Bang 2020, inspired by the incredible artwork of King_Geets.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 38
Kudos: 182
Collections: Vegebulocracy Reverse Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to King_Geets for the artwork this story is inspired by, for being an amazing sounding board, and for coming up with the title for this story. Also thanks to PearlsValMel for the beta!

Vegeta’s palm squelches against the steam-covered mirror as it slides down, leaving a tell-tale streak he’ll have to wipe up later. He braces his weight on the marble countertop to stop his knees from buckling, the pleasure is so intense. 

Her moan vibrates against the shell of his ear, a sound he feels with every nerve ending in his body. Lithe fingers dig into his backside, spurring him on along with her breathy pleas for “more” and “harder” and “oh, _God_ , don’t stop.” 

He is powerless to do anything but give her everything he has, driving into her again and again, hoping the door is thick enough to muffle the lurid slap of skin against skin. 

“Can you touch me, please? I’m so _close_ ,” she purrs, and he dutifully slides his free hand from her hip to between her parted thighs. She helps him a little, guiding his fingers until they’re right where she wants them. 

She is incoherent now, babbling encouragements and pleas as she shudders and falls apart around him. 

It doesn’t take him long after she’s pushed his fingers away to find his own release. As he muffles his groan in the curve of her shoulder, her fingers slide beneath his untucked shirt to rub soothing circles over the small of his back. 

It isn’t until he’s catching his breath, damp forehead resting against Bulma’s shoulder, that he realizes what lies just beneath the light, unknowing caress of her fingertips. 

The realization washes over him like an icy wave, and he pulls back, disentangling himself from her limbs. He quickly slips the condom off and tosses it in the toilet, ill at ease until his shirt is tucked back into his pants and all buttons and buckles have been refastened -- the mark of his shame safely hidden.

He wishes he could have it removed -- the little constellation of freckles in the shape of a winged arrow on his lower back -- but it would just grow back if he tried. Because his soulmate is out there, somewhere. Probably waiting faithfully like he has been. _Had_ been. Until now. 

Until _her_.

~~~

Two months earlier…

It’s raining again. Has every day since Vegeta arrived in this sprawling concrete jungle with its homeless problem and its maze of skyscrapers and the dirty, muddy river carving a winding path through its center. 

His apartment is in the suburbs, which might have saved him a small fortune on rent, but is costing him untold amounts in time and frustration. The bridge he has to drive over to get to his new job as head of the accounting department at Capsule Corporation is a parking lot at rush hour. He’s almost certain to be late for his first day of work. 

He glances at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes, inching his car forward a handful of centimeters before stepping on the break again. Vegeta hates being late on any day, but being late for his first day at a new company is enough to have him sweating through his undershirt. He’s a nervous wreck by the time he finds his designated parking spot in the building’s sprawling garage.

His new office is on the 32nd floor of the massive highrise. It boasts an incredible view of the city skyline, and is, by far, the nicest place he’s ever worked in. A busty blonde secretary whose name he can’t remember showed him where it was when he came in to sign his paperwork with HR. There’s a massive mahogany desk with a row of built-in cabinets behind it and one of those ergonomic chairs that costs a small fortune. Best of all, it has a door that locks. 

After a harrowing elevator ride crammed into a corner behind too many other Capsule Corp. employees, he emerges onto the accounting floor. The blonde receptionist greets him with a toothy smile that he doesn’t return. He passes a couple of his subordinates on the way to his office, who he greets with a perfunctory nod. For the umpteenth time in his life, he wishes he was better at remembering names. 

His office door closes behind him with a comforting click. He leans back against it, dragging his palm down the length of his face. Everyone in the office knows he was late on his first day. He wants to pound his head or his fist or something against the wall, but then the whole floor would be talking about that too. Better to try and distract himself with work. 

Vegeta gently places his potted orchid on the corner of the desk before booting up his computer and settling in to work. 

~~~

By the end of his first week at Capsule Corp., Vegeta is starting to feel more relaxed. The building feels less like a maze, his coworkers less like suspicious strangers. He’s familiarized himself pretty well with the corporation’s many divisions, going over the books with a fine-tooth comb to look for areas of improvement. There are several on his list, but one in particular stands out. 

The Division of Technology and Innovation’s books are a mess. Not a single expenditure has been reported in over a month, and, from the look of things, that department leaks money like a sieve. 

A quick search in the company directory yields the email address of one Dr. Bulma Briefs. The name alone tells him all he needs to know about the Head of Technology and Innovation. She’s clearly related to the company’s founder and CEO and therefore thinks she can get away with sloppy bookkeeping practices. He wastes no time typing a concise, but strongly worded, email demanding backup for every expenditure made by her department in the past month. 

On Monday, after a weekend spent working out too much because he isn’t sure what else to do with himself, he returns to the office fully expecting a reply. But there isn’t one. Nor does he receive a reply to the next email he sends, nor the next. By the end of the week, he realizes he’s just going to have to go to the Technology division himself and demand an explanation for why he’s being ignored. 

It all starts innocently enough. He rides the elevator to the floor above his, stepping out into a sprawling network of cubicles filled with employees hunched over computer screens. There’s no receptionist to point him in the right direction, so he starts walking around the perimeter of the floor, scanning the names painted on office doors. 

“Hey, man. You lost?” a tall, shaggy-haired man in an orange sweatshirt asks. 

“I’m looking for Buma Briefs,” he answers tersely. 

“Sure, man. She’s right in there.” He points to a corner office with the door propped open.

Vegeta nods his thanks to the man before brushing past him, headed for the open doorway. 

He quickly goes over what he wants to say to Bulma Briefs in his head, eager to have this unwanted interaction over with, but when he steps into the office, his thoughts grind to a sudden, scrambled halt, like a record scratching against the needle. 

There’s a woman in there, standing hunched over the great glass-topped desk in the center of the spacious room. She has long, wavy hair, dyed the color of tropical water. The blouse she has on is unbuttoned almost to the center of her generous chest, which is on display as she leans over the pile of paperwork scattered over the desk’s surface. Her bra is a very pale pink, nearly the same shade as her porcelain skin.

Vegeta startles a little when she looks up. Her icy blue eyes flash with annoyance as they look him up and down, like a fly she’s deciding whether to swat. 

“Can I help you?”

It takes Vegeta an embarrassing number of seconds to recover his wits. He clears his throat before speaking.

“Please let Bulma Briefs know I’m here to speak with her.”

She straightens, eyes him thoughtfully. “Ah, you must be the annoyingly persistent bookkeeper who's trying to get me to do his job for him. Vegeta Prince, right?”

His cheeks are burning hot now. He hopes she doesn’t notice.

It takes him another beat to realize that the woman in front of him is, in fact, Bulma Briefs. He had automatically assumed she must be Dr. Brief’s administrative assistant. She looks too young and too...voluptuous to be head of a division. He’s deeply ashamed of himself for the assumption, but doesn’t plan to let her know that. 

“Dr. Briefs,” he begins, drawing himself up to his full height, which still isn’t enough to quite match her in her four-inch heels. “Yes, it was my emails you’ve repeatedly ignored, and I’m not a _bookkeeper_. I’m the Head of Accounting.” 

She shrugs. “To-may-to, to-mah-to. Anyways, you have everything you need from me. You just haven’t looked hard enough.”

“I assure you, I don’t…”

“My department is impeccably run, Mr. Prince. I assure _you_ , I sent those copies down ages ago.”

“How can you be so sure, with that…” he guestrues to the mess of unorganized chaos on her desk, “disaster of a workspace. I’d bet this year’s bonus the receipts are somewhere buried beneath all that clutter.”

“You’re on,” she shoots back, cocking a pencil-skirt-clad hip. “And I can make that happen, too.”

“I’m sure you can, Miss-CEO’s-granddaughter.”

“Daughter, actually. But thanks for the compliment.”

Vegeta ignores her comment, rifling quickly through the stacks of paperwork so disorderly they can’t even be called piles, trying his best to organize them as he goes. The act is strangely satisfying.

Soon, he uncovers a manila folder beneath several layers of printed spreadsheets. He flips it open, and, sure enough. Inside are the last month’s receipts. 

He can’t help giving her a smug grin as he holds out the folder for her to see. 

“Well, well, well. What have we here?”

Huffing, she crosses her arms, causing her already gaping blouse to gape wider. 

To Vegeta’s dismay, his eyes automatically dip down, and the movement isn’t lost on Bulma. She pointedly follows his gaze to her cleavage, fingering the spot where, he now realizes, her blouse is missing a button.

“It popped off earlier, and I haven’t had a chance to fix it,” she explains casually, as if they were discussing the weather and not the half exposed state of her chest. “I’m not distracting you, am I?”

He’s helpless against the rush of heat that washes over him, turning him red all the way to his hairline. She’s laughing at him now, giggling like a schoolgirl at his discomfort. He clutches his folder of receipts and turns his back on her, unable to get out of her office fast enough. 

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Prince,” she calls to his retreating back. Her lilting laugh follows him all the way to the elevator. 

~~~

Returning home to an empty apartment isn’t a new experience for Vegeta, but today, he’s more aware of his solitude than usual. It feels almost like a tangible thing as he parks his car and climbs the stairs -- a shadowy figure hovering over him, silent and oppressive. It stays with him as he fits the key into the lock and opens the door, follows him inside when he shuts and locks it behind himself. 

He tosses his keys onto the small entry table and lets his bag slide to the floor. The tinnie jingle of a bell and a series of happy meows bring a small smile to his face. At least he isn’t completely alone.

“Hey there, little Monkey.” He stoops to scoop up the little grey tabby, nuzzling his face against the top of her head. 

That night, he does something he’s never done before -- something he knows he’ll feel silly for in the morning. He puts Monkey's bowl on the table beside his sad microwave dinner so they can eat together. She’s not a bad dinner companion, it turns out. Doesn’t pepper him with inane questions or demand to know what he’s thinking. Just sits, watching him in companionable silence, after she’s wolfed down her dinner. 

After washing up, he heads to the bathroom to shower. He strips quickly and efficiently, observing his usual routine of avoiding the mirror. He’s been doing it for so many years now, it isn’t a conscious decision, really. But tonight, he hesitates. Something prickles in the back of his mind, making him pause. 

His hand automatically goes to the place he tries not to think about, on his lower back just over his left hip. He doesn’t have to see it to know he’s touching it. As hard as he tries to forget about it, his body has always been acutely aware of his soulmate mark. Has been since the day it appeared when he was just a small boy. 

As a child growing up in the foster system, he had often taken comfort in the knowledge that there was someone out there waiting for him. Thinking about him. Someone who would love him and understand him and never leave. Someone he could cherish in return. 

Over the long, lonely years with no sign of his soulmate, his childish hope had turned to an aching bitterness. He had read studies that claimed ninety-nine percent of people with marks eventually found their soulmates. Even if they lived on opposite sides of the world, the universe seemed to contrive to bring the fated couples together. 

With every year that passed, Vegeta became more and more convinced that he was in the one percent to whom the universe would not be kind. He feels older than his thirty-nine years, bearing his mark like a heavy burden he can’t put down. 

The mirror has begun to fog as steam from the shower fills the room, but he can just make out the outline there, beneath his fingertips. The small, raised freckles in the shape of a winged arrow. 

Do they ever think about him, he wonders, the person who bears the mirror image of his mark? Have they given up on him, too? 

If he sheds a few tears after stepping into the shower, he doesn’t acknowledge them. They mix with the warm spray trickling down his face, flowing over aching, overworked muscles before disappearing down the drain.


	2. Chapter 2

Bulma cradles her cup of coffee between her manicured fingers and sighs. The sun’s first rays peek over the tops of buildings as she watches, outlining the city skyline in brilliant yellow and pink. 

She straightens the throw blanket and pillows on the plush leather sofa across from her desk, hiding the evidence that she’d slept there, in the office. Not that she’d slept much. Most of the night had been spent drafting plans for a new design she was working on, redrawing and calculating and experimenting until it was perfect before allowing herself to rest. 

It’s a routine she has perfected over the years. She would set an alarm on her phone to wake her before dawn, long before the first of her employees arrived. After a quick cup of coffee to shake off the cobwebs, she would grab her small toiletry bag from her desk drawer and head to the bathroom to freshen up, then change into a clean set of clothes from the small collection she keeps folded in the bottom of a cabinet. 

Today, she strips off her skirt and blouse beneath the unforgiving florescent light of the women’s restroom and turns on the hot water tap on one of the sinks. While she waits for the water to heat, she fishes a hair tie out of her bag and sweeps her long, aqua locks into a high knot. 

She cups her hands, splashing water on her face. It feels good to wash off the makeup she slept in. When she’s done, she straightens, reaching to grab a wad of paper towels from the dispenser. 

She eyes herself critically as she dries her face, then wets the paper towels to dab beneath her arms. Bulma has always had a healthy sense of pride in her appearance, but she can’t deny that she looks tired. The bags under her eyes look heavy and swollen, her skin dull and lackluster. Today, she feels every one of her thirty-seven years, most of them spent doing exactly this. Endlessly working. And avoiding her quiet, solitary home. 

Her gaze drops to the side of her neck, just beneath her ear. There, in stark relief against her fair skin, is painted a constellation of freckles in roughly the shape of a small, winged arrow -- her soulmate mark. 

For as long as she can remember, she has known she has a soulmate. She had been born with the mark after all, and her parents had done their part in educating her on its meaning, reading her bedtime stories written for children with soulmate marks. Each one was unique, the stories said, appearing on only two people in the entire world. One day, she would find the person with a matching mark, and they would live happily ever after. 

How childish that certainty seems to her now. 

She digs in her toiletry bag for the expensive tattoo cover-up she keeps for this purpose, dabbing it over the mark with the pad of her finger. A younger, more hopeful Bulma had shown it off, wearing high ponytails and low necklines, eager for someone to see it and proclaim her as theirs. Now, she keeps it carefully hidden. Sometimes, hope was more painful than giving up, and she’s tired of the pitying looks. 

She finishes her makeup and lets her hair down, running a brush through the tousled waves. There. She looks more awake now, more composed. Ready to face the day. 

Bulma usually didn’t bother to put her old clothes back on just to walk down the empty hallway back to her office, and today is no exception. She tucks her rumpled outfit and toiletry bag beneath her arm and leaves the bathroom in just her lacy bra and panties. 

As she approaches the doorway to her office, she stops short. For a brief, irrational moment, she feels grateful she insists on matching underwear sets, even though no one usually sees them but her, before her rational mind takes over, turning her thoughts toward the more pressing problem of a shadowy figure emerging from her office. 

She recognizes him a split second before he looks up and sees her. It is Vegeta. 

Vegeta with the piercing dark eyes and thick, soft-looking hair. Vegeta with the shirts that strain over his biceps and chest, as if struggling to contain him. Vegeta who had her roaming the massive building more than she ever had before, hoping to run into him, to make him blush again. Whose calls and emails she had been dodging so he would have to come to her office again. 

Vegeta, her coworker, who is definitely off limits.

She wonders what he is doing here so early. The doors shouldn’t even be unlocked yet. Then she notices his rumpled clothes, his untucked shirt. Had he spent the entire night here too, right below her, in his office? 

He freezes like a deer in headlights when he spots her, his eyes going wide as they take in the vast expanse of skin she is showing. They flit back up to hers, and, for a heated fraction of a moment, she sees something in his expression that is painfully familiar -- a desperate, bone-deep longing. 

He blinks, and the moment ends. His tender expression melts away as he fixes his gaze on the ceiling, the wall. Anywhere but on her. 

“Woman, what the hell are you doing here?” he barks out. “And why are you…?”

He trails off, and Bulma is delighted to see that even the tips of his ears have turned scarlet. 

“Naked?” she finishes for him, smiling as the redness travels down into the open collar of his shirt. “I was supposed to be alone. Care to explain what _you’re _doing here?”__

__Vegeta stammers for a moment, clearly flustered at being caught in the office overnight -- a potentially fireable offence._ _

__“I need you...I mean, I need your signature,” he says in a rush. “On some paperwork. I left it on your desk.”_ _

__Bulma puts her hands on her hips, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Why bring it when you thought I wasn’t here, hmm? Are you avoiding me, Vegeta?”_ _

__His eyes snap to hers then. There’s fire in them now. “What, like you’ve been avoiding my emails all week?” he drawls. A small, cocky smirk appears on his face. He’s suddenly enjoying this._ _

__So is she, Bulma realizes. Riling him. Having him talk back to her like she isn’t the CEO’s daughter._ _

__“I’m a busy girl,” she shrugs, tossing her hair in a deliberate gesture she hopes will look nonchalant._ _

__It has the desired effect. His eyes dip down to her chest again, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips before he pulls his gaze away._ _

__“So am I,” he growls, “so I’d appreciate a little more cooperation.”_ _

__“You’re a busy girl, too?” Bulma retorts, laughing as he begins stuttering again._ _

__“That’s not...You know what I meant!”_ _

__She finishes laughing, then levels him with a challenging stare. “Look here, buddy. I promise not to report you for being here overnight if you promise me the same.”_ _

__He returns her look evenly, and she tries to shake off the little flutter in her chest. She expects him to leave now, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, eyeing her in a way that makes her want to squirm._ _

__“Well?” she finally says, breaking the silence._ _

__He grunts questioningly at her, still staring._ _

__“You should probably let me by so I can get dressed before anyone else gets here.”_ _

__“Oh. Right.” He rushes past her, taking careful steps as he skirts around her mostly nude body._ _

__Bulma doesn’t make it easy for him, refusing to budge an inch. He has to squeeze himself against the wall to avoid touching her. She laughs again at his flustered expression._ _

__“I’ll have Goku bring down those papers you need signed,” she calls to his quickly retreating back, enjoying the view of his broad shoulders sans jacket as he goes._ _

__He acknowledges her with only a grunt and a wave of his hand, eyes steadfastly ahead._ _

__Bulma is still laughing softly to herself as she steps into her office and shuts the door._ _

__She pulls a change of underwear and a cobalt blue wrap dress in one of those soft, thick fabrics that doesn’t wrinkle out of her stash, slipping them on before finding her nude pumps where she kicked them off under her desk._ _

__Taking a seat, she finds the folder of paperwork Vegeta left and flips it open. He has left little flags stuck in all the places she needs to sign. When she reaches the final page, she signs her name beneath his, pausing to compare their signatures._ _

__His handwriting is neat and precise, not a line out of place or a single unnecessary frill. Like him. Hers looks chaotic beside it, looping and slightly crooked._ _

__She wonders what he’s doing right now, in his office on the floor beneath hers. Is he shrugging off his rumpled shirt, perhaps, exposing honed muscles and caramel skin to the empty air? Maybe he’ll freshen up in the restroom too, letting water drip down over his bare chest before he pulls a fresh shirt on, spritzing himself with that spicy cologne that makes her dizzy._ _

__Shaking her head to clear it of the distracting image, she attempts to put Vegeta out of her mind for the moment and focus on work._ _

__Her success is...limited._ _

__She does manage to present the finished schematics she’d spent most of the night perfecting to her team so they can start building a prototype. It’s her favorite part of working on a new project, and she’s thankful for the distraction._ _

__She works as late into the evening as she possibly can, leaving only when she knows she’ll be locked in otherwise. Two days in a row without showering is where she draws the line, but she still brings home an armful of work to see her through the evening._ _

__When the night bleeds into early morning and her eyes begin to cross, she finally lies down on her big, empty bed, too tired to do anything but let her mind wander. Predictably, it wanders straight to him._ _

__It’s been happening a lot lately -- since the day they met, really -- this _wondering _her mind wants to do whenever she thinks about Vegeta. What his body looks like beneath his neatly starched shirts. What it would feel like to run her fingers through his inky hair. If he would wrap the red silk tie he often wears around her wrists and…___ _

____Her stomach knots with nervous energy whenever she tries to imagine anything beyond that._ _ _ _

____Not that she is a complete novice when it comes to sex. In her late twenties, she and her high-school friend, Yamcha, had made a pact to help ease each other’s loneliness until their respective soulmates came along._ _ _ _

____It wasn’t an uncommon arrangement for people with soulmate marks who had been waiting as long as they both had. Some marked individuals chose to wait for their soulmates, but many turned to such casual arrangements to get by. She had always hoped that her soulmate would understand, if she ever found them._ _ _ _

____Yamcha had eventually found his soulmate -- a handsome bodybuilder named Tien who was absolutely perfect for him. She had been a groom’s maid at their wedding and was truly happy for them, but sometimes she missed having that brief respite from the endless lonely nights._ _ _ _

____Her hand snakes beneath the waistband of her pajama shorts, and she strokes herself lazily as her mind continues to wander._ _ _ _

____Might Vegeta be open to an arrangement like she’d had with Yamcha? He is attracted to her; she is sure of it. She can read him as easily as a flashing neon sign. He wouldn’t turn her down._ _ _ _

____Alarm bells sound in her head as she lets herself imagine what it might be like, her fingers working in tight circles now. It’s a terrible idea, for all sorts of reasons, not the least of which being that they work together. But beyond the practical concerns, there’s...something about him. Something in the inexplicable way she’s drawn to him, that feels too much, too risky. Like starting a fire that might easily blaze beyond her control, destroying her in the process._ _ _ _

____It had been easy with Yamcha. She’d loved him, sure, but it had never been that heart pounding, can’t stop thinking about him, weak in the knees kind of love. He had been more of a friend than anything. And Vegeta is something… else._ _ _ _

____She’s still rolling the idea around in her mind when she steps into the building the next morning. The automatic doors part, and the object of her silent musings is suddenly there, as if she’d conjured him with her thoughts. He’s standing in profile, briefcase in hand, waiting for the elevator._ _ _ _

____They share a brief glance as the elevator doors slide open. He’s wearing the red tie again, the one she’d imagined him binding her hands with last night in her bed. It makes her breath hitch, but she manages to follow him nonchalantly into the elevator, which is quickly filling with people._ _ _ _

____Several more push in behind her, and she is forced to stand with her back to Vegeta, so close she can feel his warm breath ruffling her hair._ _ _ _

____Bulma takes a deep, grounding breath as the doors close and they start to ascend. There are so many bodies crammed into the too-small space, but she can only focus on one._ _ _ _

____He’s so close. She can almost imagine she feels the warmth of him against her back. Her fingers twitch with the desire to reach back and find his._ _ _ _

____Unable to help herself, she chances a glance over her shoulder, turning her head only as much as absolutely necessary. His gaze snaps up to hers, and a frizzion passes between them, something hot and electric._ _ _ _

____He’s wearing that expression again, the one from their run-in at her office door yesterday morning. Only this time, it doesn’t disappear. He looks lost and terrified and...hungry. So, so hungry._ _ _ _

____Slowly, deliberately, she moves the hand on the wall side back, searching. Reaching. For a tense moment, she meets only empty air before she feels the delicate slide of his fingertips against hers._ _ _ _

____It’s so subtle at first, she almost thinks she’s imagining it. But then his fingers glide against hers, caressing with a gentleness that steals her breath._ _ _ _

____She lets her eyes flutter closed, fighting to keep her composure as a tsunami of emotion floods her entire body. Her fingers close tighter around his -- an anchor in a world that has suddenly turned upside down._ _ _ _

____They reach Vegeta’s floor first. Their eyes meet briefly as she moves aside to let him out, and she’s glad to see that he looks every bit as wrecked as she feels._ _ _ _

____It’s that look that makes up her mind, that hunger in his dark eyes._ _ _ _

____Late that evening, after everyone else in the building has gone home and the front doors are securely locked, she gathers up the folder Vegeta brought her -- the one she “forgot” to have Goku bring down to him -- and heads to the elevator._ _ _ _

____She’ll slide it beneath his office door if he isn’t there, but something tells her he will be. At least, she hopes he is._ _ _ _

____She’s in luck. As soon as she steps out of the elevator, she can see his office light shining from beneath the door at the end of the hallway. She tucks the folder under her arm, knocking lightly and turning the knob at the same time._ _ _ _

____Vegeta sits behind his desk, hunched slightly. He has discarded his jacket and loosened his tie. It sits slightly askew. His hair is wild, stuck out in all directions like he’s been running his fingers through it._ _ _ _

____His lips part when he catches sight of her, but he doesn’t say anything. He sits up straighter as she enters the room, pushing the door closed behind her._ _ _ _

____“I brought you these,” she explains as she saunters around his desk, holding up the folder._ _ _ _

____“Good.” He nods, pushing his chair back from the desk and swiveling around to face her._ _ _ _

____His sharp eyes track her movements as she comes around to stand on his side of the desk, almost as if he’s afraid to take them off of her._ _ _ _

____Bulma drops the folder onto his neat desktop, and the smack of it hitting the wood makes Vegeta jump slightly. She smiles and steps out of her pumps._ _ _ _

____His gaze darts up to hers, and she holds it as she slowly, deliberately trails her fingers up her thigh, taking the hem of her dress with them._ _ _ _

____Gathering all her courage, she reaches beneath and tugs her panties down. They fall in a pool of black lace around her ankles._ _ _ _

____She sees it in the depths of Vegeta’s dark, hungry eyes as they follow the movement. Feels it in every terrified and aroused fiber of her being._ _ _ _

____The match has been struck, her fate sealed._ _ _ _

____She’ll happily burn._ _ _ _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to PearlsValMel for the beta!

Vegeta closes his eyes as the numbers on the screen in front of him begin in blur, letting his head loll back against the headrest of his chair. He’s at the office after hours for the third time this week, working himself into exhaustion so he won’t have to confront the new and, frankly, terrifying feelings Bulma has stirred in him. 

He tries to tell himself he stays late because he wants to excel at his job. It’s all he has to show for almost forty years on the planet, after all. But, deep down, he knows his workaholism is simply a smoke screen covering up the gaping emptiness of his life outside these four walls. 

Somehow, the random sprinklings of Bulma Briefs’ luminous presence throughout his days has thrown the darkness of his nights into sharper relief. Once, his workout routine and his comic books and Monkey’s quiet company had been enough to get him by, even on nights when he surrenders to the siren call of the soulmate porn sites, torturing himself with cheap imitations of something he would never have. 

His fantasies used to feature a faceless, nameless person whose only constant characteristic was a mark that matched his own. But now…

Vegeta groans as he remembers the way she’d looked yesterday morning, all gentle curves and pink lace and miles of bare porcelain skin. He’s been haunted by the way her nipples had pushed against the lace and by her sweet, feminine scent as he’d rushed past her. Absolutely perfect. And absolutely beyond his reach. 

His hand still tingles from the gentle brush of hers in the elevator earlier. It’s been hours, yet he’s barely gotten anything productive done since. His mind is consumed with the task of replaying that moment over and over, dissecting and analyzing and puzzling over what exactly happened between them and, more frighteningly, what it might have meant. 

Either, (a) he hallucinated the entire thing, (b) he pathetically misread her signals, and she’d chalked the moment up to an accidental brush in the overcrowded elevator, or -- most frighteningly of all -- (c) the overwhelming attraction between them is mutual. 

He knows it isn’t unheard of for someone with a soulmate mark to take a temporary lover, especially after waiting for as long as he has. It just isn’t an option he’s ever considered for himself before now. 

Waiting for his soulmate has never been so much a decision for him as a foregone conclusion. He has simply never considered doing otherwise. And, frankly, he’s never felt much desire for sex outside of that permanent, loving bond. Until now, that is. 

Bulma’s touch has awakened a long-dormant part of himself, one he isn’t entirely sure how to handle. He doesn’t think he needs to feel guilty for wanting to pursue something with her. After all, he has long been convinced that his soulmate is either dead or determined not to be found. He is free to do as he wishes. If only he had the first clue how to go about it. 

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he almost doesn’t hear the quiet rap of knuckles on the door. 

His head shoots up in surprise as the door swings open, and there she is -- Bulma -- sidling into his office as if summoned by the force of his thoughts. She looks arrestingly beautiful in a cobalt-blue dress, her hair falling onto her shoulders in soft waves. 

He swallows thickly when she closes the door behind her with a deliberateness that sends his heart rabbiting in his chest, though he isn’t sure why. There’s something different in her eyes too, a determination he hasn’t seen there before. 

Vegeta watches, spellbound by her every fluid movement, as she comes around to his side of the desk. He swivels in his chair to look up at her when she’s standing beside him, letting his knees fall open and his head tip back. 

For all the anxiety he’d been feeling just moments ago, he’s surprisingly relaxed now that she’s here. It’s so strange, he thinks, the way her presence sends his heart racing and yet puts him completely at ease. 

He jumps a little when the folder in her hands smacks down on the desktop, shattering the loaded silence for an instant. She’s close enough now that he can smell the sweet fruitiness of her perfume; can just make out the points of her nipples beneath the silk of her dress. 

She’s watching him intently when his eyes return to hers, probably reading his every emotion etched into the lines of his face. A little smile quirks her lips as she toes off her heels. She moves a little closer to him, her steps now silent. He has to crane his neck to look up at her. 

Something passes between them as their eyes find each other and lock -- some silent understanding. Bulma’s chest rises and falls with the deep, steadying breath she takes, and his eyes leave hers, drawn to the movement of her hands as they slip beneath the hem of her dress. 

Vegeta struggles to swallow around the lump in his throat as black lace flutters to the floor. He tugs at his suddenly too-tight collar as she kicks the scrap of fabric aside. Bulma doesn’t give him even a moment to recover from his initial shock, her fingers reaching immediately for the tie at her side that holds her dress closed. With only a quick tug, the tie releases, and the silk flutters open. 

Vegeta’s brain short-circuits. She’s perfect, stunning. More than his limited imagination had dared to conjure. 

“Vegeta,” she murmurs, shocking him out of his catatonic state. 

He stands so suddenly, his chair rolls into the bookshelves behind him with a crash, but he pays it no mind. His hands are already full of her softness, spanning a tiny waist that feels so fragile, so precious, in his rough paws. 

He should kiss her, he thinks, eyes darting down to her pink lips, parted sweetly in invitation. He wants to. Oh, God, he wants to. But what if he’s terrible at it? Will he immediately give away his inexperience? Will she be repulsed?

Before his racing mind can settle on answers to any of these things, Bulma’s fingers have gotten a firm grip on his tie, and she’s kissing him. 

A little shocked moan bubbled up in his throat when she yanked on his tie. He feels its last plaintive notes vibrate against the softness of her lips, so warm and strange and wonderful as they open beneath his. She tastes like ripe summer strawberries, spearmint gum, and something unique and heady he knows is just...her. 

He’s terrified, overstimulated, and overwhelmed. He hopes to God that she can’t feel the way he’s trembling, but he’s also desperate and hungry in a way he’s never been before.

His hands can’t seem to touch enough of her skin. His tongue can’t possibly get enough of her taste or the feel of hers sliding against it. It feels different than he’d imagined it would, kissing someone. It’s incredible, almost transcendent, as his lips fall into rhythm with hers, as natural as breathing. 

With her hand still fisted around his tie, Bulma backs up until she can hop up on the edge of the desk. She parts her thighs and coaxes one of his hands between them. 

Vegeta tears himself away from her mouth to look down at where his fingertips brush against soft, pink skin and downy curls and...wet. So, so wet.

She guides his pointer finger toward her opening, and Vegeta groans at how easily the tender flesh parts around him. Wanting more than anything to make her feel good, he does the best he can with what he’s seen in videos, pushing his finger in to the second knuckle and slowly drawing it back out again. 

He watches her face intently, searching for clues that he isn’t completely botching this. So far, so good, he thinks. Her eyes have fluttered closed, dark lashes fluttering against fair skin. Her pink lips are parted in a silent ‘O.’ He twists his finger a little inside her, and she gasps. It’s quite possibly the most beautiful sound Vegeta has ever heard. 

Her eyes open, locking on his, and she gives him an encouraging smile. 

“You don’t have to be so gentle,” she purrs. “I won’t break.”

Despite her words, he’s still careful when he slides a second finger into her slick heat. It must have been the right move because Bulma lets out the sweetest whimper and parts her legs even wider for him. Her hips begin to shift a little against his palm.

Vegeta looks down between them again, marveling at the sight of his own, familiar digits disappearing inside her pink little cunt. She feels so warm and snug around just his fingers; he’s almost afraid he’ll hurt her when he...when they…

“Please,” Bulma sighs, her hips moving more desperately now. 

With her free hand -- the other still hasn’t released his tie -- she works the buttons of his shirt, parting them easily with her dextrous little fingers. When all but the top two at his collar are undone, she tugs the hem from his waistband and parts the material. Her appreciative groan makes Vegeta almost thankful for all the lonely evenings he’s filled with punishing workouts. 

“Holy shit,” she exclaims sweetly. I takes Vegeta several seconds to realize her gaze has drifted beneath his open shirttail and is locked on the unmistakable outline of his erection straining against his upper thigh. 

Before he can properly brace himself, her hand is wrapped around him over the material of his trousers, squeezing just slightly. Exploring. 

Vegeta groans. It feels so good -- so impossibly good -- just that simple touch over his clothing, that he’s suddenly terrified. If she keeps touching him like that, or takes him out of his boxers and wraps those soft little fingers around him, he may not be able to keep it together long enough to make it inside her. And then it’ll be obvious how woefully inexperienced he is. She’ll know.

Making a snap decision, he brushes her wandering fingers away, using his free hand to work his fly open. He’ll have to be quick. If she touches him again, this could all be over. 

Vegeta hopes, as he desperately shoves his boxers down his thighs, that she can’t see how nervous he is. He tries to project calm and confidence as he seizes her hips with both hands and yanks her to the very edge of the desk. 

For a heady moment, he almost falls for his own act as her legs wrap around his waist and she murmurs a breathy, “yes.” 

The world begins to blur a little around the edges, taking on an almost dreamlike quality. Surely these aren’t his hands gripping her soft flesh, his lips finding the smoothness of her throat, his cock pressing into the incredible heat and tightness of her cunt. His life has never been this good. 

He only fumbles for a moment getting himself lined up, and then he’s inside her, sheathed to the hilt in one smooth thrust. 

Bulma lets out a sharp gasp, and for a horrifying moment, he’s afraid he hurt her, ruining everything with his eagerness and stupidity. Concern wars with the bliss he feels at being enveloped by Bulma in every way that he can be. It’s difficult, but he makes himself stay still, fighting against the overwhelming urge to _thrust_. 

“Are you…”

“I’m fine,” she interrupts, tugging on his tie as if she’s afraid he might leave. “ _Please_ , fuck me.”

The last of his control breaks at her words, and he gives himself over to instinct. To pleasure. 

The sound of his hips snapping against hers is deliciously lewd in his silent office. And then there are her _moans _. It’s like the soundtrack of all his deepest, darkest fantasies come to life.__

__His eyes drink her in hungrily, from her blissful expression to her bouncing cleavage to the place where she’s split open around him as he disappears over and over inside her pink flesh. Her fingers slide down her belly to stroke just above, and she lets out an especially needy whine. He’s forced to squeeze his eyes closed against the burgeoning tightness in his groin. _Not yet. _____

____Fighting for some semblance of control, he buries his face against the side of her neck, parting his lips to taste the light sheen of sweat misting her skin. It’s no good. She feels lightyears better than anything he’s ever even dreamed of, and his hips are beginning to snap more forcefully against hers, almost beyond his control._ _ _ _

____“Oh, God, I’m gunna...” he grits out between clenched teeth, so close to the most intense orgasm of his life he can almost taste it._ _ _ _

____“Don’t come yet! I’m close.”_ _ _ _

____He lifts his head in surprise at her commanding tone. His body seems to be, miraculously, obedient to her needs, as the pressure recedes just enough to let Bulma go over the edge._ _ _ _

____“Yes, yes, yes!” she cries, and Vegeta is forced to dig his fingertips into her hips to keep her from squirming away from him as she writhes._ _ _ _

____He feels a gush of wetness around his cock, instantly bringing him to the edge again. A sound escapes his throat that barely sounds human, and certainly nothing like himself. He can hold on no longer._ _ _ _

____“Shit,” Bulma swears suddenly, pushing against his stomach with her hands. “Don’t cum inside, okay.”_ _ _ _

____Vegeta lets out a pained growl, and with monumental effort, pulls himself from her body just in time to fist his cock as he paints the insides of her thigh with his spend._ _ _ _

____He lets his damp forehead drop to her shoulder as he struggles to regain his breath, partly to let himself bask in the afterglow and partly to avoid Bulma’s eyes. Because if he were to let her see his face right now, he’s not sure how many of his secrets she would be able to read there. He feels so unguarded, so broken down. _Naked _in every sense of the word.___ _ _ _

______Bulma strokes his sweaty hair gently, her other hand still fisted around his tie._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Damn,” she breathes eventually. “That was so hot.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Vegeta allows himself a small, self-satisfied grin against the side of her neck. It seems she hadn’t guessed the extent of his inexperience._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Do you, uh... have any tissues?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Her stammered question pulls him out of his thoughts. He grunts in the affirmative, still a little beyond words, as he quickly tucks himself back into his boxers and leans down to pull a box of tissues out of a drawer._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Thanks,” she says breathily as she takes it from him, and he forces himself to turn around and give her a little privacy while she cleans up._ _ _ _ _ _

______By the time he is done buttoning his slacks and half-open shirt and is fidgeting with his tie, Bulma is finished putting herself back together. She encourages him to turn around with a gentle hand on his shoulder._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Thanks, Vegeta.” She smiles up at him, all swollen lips and flushed cheeks. Beautiful. “I really needed that.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______He can’t help but chuckle a little at the idea of her thanking him for what's just transpired when it is _he _who should be groveling at her feet in gratitude.___ _ _ _ _ _

________“I’ll see you later, then,” she says._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She leans in to peck him on the lips, and he readily complies, fighting the urge to deepen the kiss. Or to beg her to stay._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Goodnight.” She smiles over her shoulder at him as she saunters from the room, closing the door behind her._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Goodnight,” Vegeta rasps, finding his voice just a second too late._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________His body drops bonelessly into his chair, still in disbelief over what has just occurred. He has almost convinced himself that, in his perpetual exhaustion, he hallucinated the whole evening when something black and lacy catches his eye._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The lace of her panties feels silky and delicate between his fingers, a tangible reminder that he hasn’t imagined anything._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork by King_Geets


End file.
